Today's prompt is to describe a bedroom from memory.
Sun-slatted, golden warmth gathered
in the afternoons.
Books in a pile, on the desk,
on the bed,
fallen at my feet.
The tree outside my window - beech?
The house across the street
with the wandering cat.
The days marked by learning:
nineteenth century Paris
at the bottom of the bed,
The Color Purple on the orange bedspread,
evenings full of honeyed knowledge
mornings full of greening get-go.
John William Waterhouse painting
on the wall, lemon scented candle
on the windowsill.
As rooms go, this was small,
but in my mind, a world it was.
In my memory, its largesse looms.
A room of one's own.
Space to think, to grow.
Window frame sifting sky,
portal to everywhere.